Can't Tell Him
by Miss Pyromaniac
Summary: Robin keeps having nightmares about the mission that never was. What's worse is that he can't share them with the person who needs to hear it the most. Rated T because I'm over-cautious. Slashy undertones, and vague spoilers for episode 16.


I can't admit it to anyone. Not to Batman, and especially not to Kid Flash.

But I still dream about it.

Okay, that's the wrong word for it – more like a nightmare, in almost every respect. I can vividly remember the feel of how he carried me, arms tight around his neck and legs locked on either side of his waist, gripping with a certainty as he ran at a blurring speed. Everything was certain there. Even if our subconsciouses were all twisted to believe that this was reality, we didn't dare to panic. And we were now the world's only superheroes, right? I had to be strong like Batman; Kid Flash had to be as sure as the Flash. Despite the chaos and certain doom that was probably going to hit us, we were calm. Being held by him – as close to behind held by him as I figure I'll ever manage – somehow made it easier to face.

We obviously had to face it eventually, and we did. Once he'd jumped the gap and we landed on the alien ship, we quickly disentangled. But his touch had a lingering effect on me. The going was a little easier because my best friend was right there beside me.

In our last moments, he never left my side.

From what I remember before I blacked out, the explosion hit us both at the same time. Which means we both probably passed out at the same time, too. My dreams prefer an alternate ending. One where I live half a second longer than he does, and I have just enough time to watch him go before me in a sadistically comical sort of slow-motion. Pressure and debris buffet him to the floor with a painfully audible smack. The heat of the blast singes his ginger locks, and his uniform looks as if it might catch on fire if it were allowed enough time. His eyes, a moment ago ready for condemnation, widen from the impact (because nobody can predict _exactly _what being struck by an explosion feels like) and there's just enough time for me to watch as the light leaves those beautiful emerald orbs. Then I'm thrown off my feet by the very same deadly combination that felled my companion. The pain, the shock, the emotion completely _over_whelms me–

And then I'm sitting up in bed, clutching the sheets so tightly that my knuckles are as white as my paled face. My breaths come shallow until I coax them into a deep, calming rhythm, and it takes me a second to realize that my brow is soaked with sweat as it might had I been sleeping under a heat lamp. It didn't matter when I'd gone to bed beforehand; every time I woke from this nightmare, I felt like I'd hardly slept at all. It's only after I force myself to relax and lay back down that I notice my cheeks are stiff from drying, salty tears.

I'm no stranger to nightmares, but they're not something I experience very often. After my parents died, the bad dreams had haunted me for months. I'm sure I had one or two after my first encounter with the Joker, and my head was completely disoriented after the first and only time Scarecrow's fear gas caught me unawares. But I haven't had ones as vivid as these in a long time. Ones that felt so _real_.

The lack of sleep isn't healthy. Keeping this to myself isn't healthy. I'm smart enough to know I that should tell somebody.

Batman, he's never been one to deal with such strong, probably hormonal emotions. As good as some solid advice sounds, he might not be the best one to go running to.

Alfred would be great at giving advice, and he's a good listener. But for some reason, I don't feel comfortable telling the elderly butler that I have feelings for my _male _best friend. I doubt he'd judge me, but it just doesn't sound right that he should be the first to know. He's perceptive enough to figure it out if I were vague about it, too.

I need to tell Wally.

But I can't, because with the way he flirts with M'gann and Artemis there's _no way _he could be looking my way. I refuse to give myself any sort of false hope that he could ever possibly feel otherwise.

Sometimes it's painful to keep it to myself, though. Soon the lack of rest is going to show both at school and during missions, and then I'll have everybody breathing down my neck.

Eventually, I always fall back asleep.


End file.
